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Downhill From There
Starting Night The night sky befell the City of Houston. Stars twinkled like glitter on a dark velvet dress. It was about ten o'clock at night and the cities activity had been a bit dwindled so that they people could return home to their families. The street lights were guides to those strutting the sidewalks to make their way home. VROOM VROOM The roar of an engine could be heard in the distance. Someone pushing a motorcycle came rushing through the streets at great speeds, before having to stop at a red light. He'd squeezed the brake near the thruster, coming to a complete halt then threw his leg to the ground to achieve stability. The person riding the bike had their face covered by a helmet; a tool used for protection against falling off of the vehicle. The light turned green and he took off once again and turned at the next left turn that he could. He began to ease down on his break to turn into the parking lot of a restaurant. Once parked he lifted his leg over the bike so that he could stand straight up. He stretched a bit, throwing his arm over his chest and hugging it tightly. He removed the helmet from his head, revealing his face to the empty city streets. His skin was brown, much like that of any chocolate candy bar from a local store. He brushed his hand through his spiky hair which had been cut into a buzzcut on the sides; it was a unique mohawked style. He possessed gold eyes that gave a glimmer of light to the immediate area of his face, dazzling if you will. He'd been dressed rather lazily as though he'd just finished some sort of sports activity. A grey hooded zip-up jack, which at the time had been unzipped revealing a white t-shirt, and a pair of grey sweatpants to match. His feet were covered by a pair of grey stripped running shoes. Flinging his bag from his back to the back of his motorcycle he began to make his way towards the empty restaurant. Upon entering he'd instantly be met by a man who was about in his late forties and a young lady who'd been around the same age of the motorcycle riding boy. "Michael!" The man shouted, throwing his arms up in a welcoming manner while still holding onto the towel in his hand. "How ya' feelin'? Big game tomorrow!" Michael Davis was the boy who'd just entered the facility and the one who'd been riding the motorcycle. Michael had quite the reputation in his city, he was the boy who'd carried his team to the final round of the March Madness tournament. An elite basketball player who'd had a promising future ahead of himself. "Yeah, we are supposed to be restin' today. But I still needed to get some shots up to stay on the roll." The mohawked teen responded. "The Cougars haven't made it this far into the playoffs in I don't know how long." The man chuckled. "And to think it'd be that same snot nosed lil' boy who used to run up in here for a glass of water when he was young, that would carry us to the top. You're eighteen, one of the youngest, yet smoothest cats I've seen play the game in quite some time. How's the draft looking for you?" Smiling at the man's words, Michael shook his head and pulled out a se4at to sit himself down. "Yeah, yeah, and you bust me every time for that too Mr. Pryor." Michael let out a laugh at the man's statement about him running into his restaurant asking for water when he was young. "It's a'ight. From what my agent sayin' Imma' potential lottery pick." "LOTTERY PICK?!" Mr. Pryor shouted to the top of his lungs, veins popping out of his neck as he did. "Phew, I won't lie. I'm hella excited, but you average more assist than everyone. How tha' hell are you a lottery pick? Twenty five points, fifteen assist? The Cougars got one of the highest scoring teams in the game right now." There was a moment of silence. "The small forward from Duke..." Michael mumbled, "...He's explosive. Mans' nice. The final game of March Madness for the championship." "Exactly, so don't even think too much on it. Lamaria, grab us some drinks." Mr. Pryor commanded the girl next to him. Lamaria Pryor, Mr. Pyror's daughter and the girl Michael had known for most of his life. She and Michael had always been friends for as long as they could remember, attending nearly every level of school together. She'd even attended the same college as Michael, the University of Houston, where she'd been studying to become a veterinarian. "Yes dad..." She sighed, swinging her neck and rolling her eyes as she headed to the kitchen. From one table, isolated in a corner from all the rest, one woman sat with a tall glass of water, repeatedly flicking her finger into its brim and casting ripples for her trifling amusement. As the newcomer stepped into the restaurant, she looked over her shoulder, assiduously watching his every move from the safety of black-tinted sunglasses, clenching a bronze necklace rested around her neck. She perched slightly above her seat, her eyes wandering every corner of the isolated space, before returning in place, silently cursing her own anxiety. “Lin?” someone softy called out from the seat opposite to her own. The woman, Lin, lifted up her sunglasses, revealing eyes of golden amber, and met the gaze of Claudia Privette, a woman in her mid-thirties with long, silky blonde hair—her aunt. “Are you all right, Lin?” Claudia asked, placing a palm on Lin's hand. Lin forced a smile on her face. “I'm fine, Claudia. What about you?” “I will be.” Claudia's eyes sank, her face painted with a fleeting melancholy, before she took a sip of water and rewarded Lin's smile with one of her own. Lin frowned. “You didn't have to do this. You didn't have to go with me.” Claudia chuckled. “We are family, aren't we? Best to think of this as a… vacation, you know?” She narrowed her eyes. “I may not share your… gift, but I know how must be for you to focus at times. So, I beg you… focus, and do not let your past burden you. Forget about Lavender Phoenix, and just be Lin Privette for now.” “Would that convince you to do the same?” As Claudia looked away, evidently troubled by her words, Lin placed a hand on her face in guilt. “I'm sorry.” “Do you still hate me?” “Claudia—...” Taken aback, Lin shook her head while attempting to formulate a response. “This again? I have nothing against you, Claudia; I never did. You had nothing to do with his crimes.” “But I did, don't you see? I brought him into our family.” “You didn't know.” “And he let me live—live with all this guilt.” “He loved you, Claudia. He wanted you to know that.” “What does it mean? Will he take you away from me as well?” Lin stood up and placed her hands on Claudia's shoulders. “Nothing is going to happen to me.” She pointed to her necklace. “I still have Sanguis… and I still have you. Silvio let me live as well, don't you remember?” “He's changed,” Claudia breathed, her body beginning to quiver. Lin gave Claudia a trepid smile, fearful of what was to come. “I'm not a god; my visions have misled me before.” “I've had enough of your lies.” Lin held Claudia tighter. “Claudia… you need to move on, with or without him.” “Nothing will take away everything that's happened.” “You have the power to move on, regardless.” “I can't do anything but believe in you. Oh god...” Claudia lay slumped against her chair, her skin glistening with sweat before her labored breaths. She stared unwaveringly into nothing, as if she had gone far away from the only relative she had left standing in front of her. “Oh no,” Lin whispered before waving to the front of the restaurant. “Help!” As Mr. Pryor and Michael continued on with their conversation, they slowly began to hear the conversation between the two customers in the back of the restaurant escalate. They tried to carry on with their own conversation but as they did, the two individuals in the back would have their conversation overshadow the rest of the facility. "Oh no!" Mr. Pryor shouted, pushing back from his seat and rushing to the aid of the two women at the front. Once he'd gotten to their side, he got down on one knee and placed his hand gently on Claudia's shoulder. Slowly rubbing up and down in a soothing manner he kept quiet for a moment. Turning his attention to the other woman, Lin, he'd finally spoken. "What happened?" He asked, continuing to rub the opposing woman. "We heard y'all talkin' then... This." Lamaria swung the doors of the employee only section wide open and dashed to the front of the building where the trio gather all while holding a glass of water with three ice cubes swimming about. She'd also gotten into a kneeling position like her father, then placed her hand onto the opposite shoulder of the woman. "You have nothing to be afraid of!" She stated as calm as ever, trying to make sure the woman knew she wasn't in any harm. The brown skinned teen had turned her attention to Lin. "Is this normal?" She'd asked continuing to rub the woman's shoulder along with her father. Handing the water to her father, who'd in turn held it out for Claudia to grab, Lamaria extended her now free hand out to Lin for a formal handshake. "I'm Lamaria, this is my daddy, he owns this place." Michael remained in his seat the entire time this had been happening. He didn't know how to properly handle situations, so he'd rather stay away from them as best he could. Besides, what the hell could he offer anyway. He'd probably do more damage. “M—my name is Lin,” Lin stuttered before shaking Lamaria's hand with some hesitance. “I'm sorry, this hasn't happened before. At least... I would think not. I mean, we were talking, and then...” She glanced at Claudia, who seemed to be in slightly better condition than a moment prior to her relief. “I'm really sorry about this. Is there anything I can do to help?” Gripping Lin's hand gently, Lamaria shook her head left and right. "No, no. It's fine!" The ebony exclaimed, releasing Lin's hand then standing up to her feet. "I've never seen either of you around before. Are you new to the city?" Lamaria was very friendly and welcoming to those around her and the great big smile that was on her face. Michael had also risen to his feet and begun heading towards the exit. Waving as he'd opened the doors, he called out to Mr. Pryor and Lamaria. "Imma' get to the house. Need the rest for tomorrow." Fully existing the building, he reached outside and headed towards his bike. At Lamaria's question, Lin briefly reached for a family photo tucked under her jacket, before deciding upon a different approach. “Yes,” she answered. “Claudia and myself, we're um… tourists, from England. We just stopped here for a rest, and then… this happened.” Lin helped Claudia to her feet as she attempted to stand. “Claudia! Are you okay?” Claudia sighed, averting her niece's eyes. “How embarrassing...“ “I'm the one who—...” Lin instinctively cut off her sentence and looked at Lamaria. “We should be fine from here, thank you. Do you know of any nearby resorts we could stay in for the night?” Mr. Pryor had been in the back cleaning the few tables he had left, as it had been well past closing time but the current events had him to fall behind schedule. He turned the lights in the back of the restaurant off but left the front ones on for Lamaria and the other two women. "Yes, yes!" Lamaria exclaimed shaking her head up and down. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pen and a torn piece of paper she'd just so happened to conveniently have. "I'll write the address on here," She'd began writing swiftly, but each letter near as ever. "Once you leave out of the doors, you head down about three blocks on your left there will be a hotel: the "Holiday Inn", is the name." Lamaria slid the paper across the table to Lin. "But, are y'all sure you'll be able to make it there? I wouldn't want you two jeopardizing anything." Lin nodded, smiling. “We'll be more careful from now on. Thank you for your help.” With that, she took her aunt's hand and carefully supported her on their way outside of the restaurant, taking a look at the address scribbled on the paper. “Holiday Inn, right?” “What happens tomorrow?” Claudia murmured. Lin gazed up into the starlit sky. “I don't know; I don't know where to begin.” Claudia stood face-to-face with Lin and solemnly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Then do as you've always done before: let fate guide you. Enjoy your time here and think nothing of your visions until… something finds us.” Lin frowned. “Do you still insist on following me?” Claudia let out a slight chuckle. “I would be grateful if you'd let me. Besides, even if Silvio is nowhere to be found... I could still use the exercise.” Finally, outside the restaurant Michael had still been in the parking lot, fiddling with his motorcycle in more ways than one. He kicked the kickstand up and leaned the bike to his then began heading down the sidewalk. He'd chosen to walk the rest of the way rather than ride his bike. Michael had a lot on his mind and a lot on the line with tomorrow's national event. "If I fuck up once, then it couldn't be detrimental." The teen began to think back on his coach's words of encouragement telling the team that if they lose, they are still winners. "Yeah, hell nah. We lose and the entire city is let down, Coach Young." Michael juggled thoughts in just the short time of his walk. He'd thought about what would happen if they won and what would happen if they lost, but was keep on the thought of winning. The town's people were excited that there team had made it to such a high scale and to lose when it all counts would bring great shame to not only the city, but to his name as. Before Lin herself could leave the premises, her aunt grabbed her by the shoulder and abruptly turned her around. “Yes?” she uttered with a slight grunt. Claudia narrowed her eyes and leaned closer to Lin’s chest. “You’re bleeding.” “What?” Without looking where Claudia’s eyes were pointed, Lin began to feel an inexplicable warmth starting beneath her clavicle and descending under her shirt. She removed her necklace and held it in her palm, blood pouring from its center and cascading from her grasp, forming a dark puddle before Lin’s feet. Claudia gasped, her face left pale from the grisly sight. “Goodness! Is this Sanguis’ doing!?” “It’s not my blood.” Lin attempted to clench the necklace against her fingers, only for a sharp pain in the back of her hand to loosen her grip. She dropped the necklace into the crimson pool, watching in stillness as it dissolved before her eyes. Claudia took a step back, placing a palm over her mouth and withholding her urge to scream. “We should go,” she breathed. “No,” Lin whispered, “not yet.” Lin’s bond with Sanguis was one she had forged through trust and camaraderie throughout Lin’s hardships as a supernatural investigator and vigilante. Although they began as enemies, Lin had long convinced Sanguis to spare her life and become her weapon, even if she would never have the answers he sought. A long time had passed since last she heard his voice, but her belief in him would persist nevertheless. They were the closest of friends; Sanguis would never mean to harm her. And so, with all the fearlessness of one who had bore witness to spiritual phenomena time and time again, Lin kneeled before the puddle and attempted to plunge her hand beyond its surface. But before she could touch it, the puddle would suddenly move of its own accord, slithering away and into the streets with all the grace of a living snake. “Sanguis!” Lin shouted, instinctively chasing after the trail of blood that had already gained a considerable distance from her. The blood condensed into a pool within sight of Michael, before contorting again, coiling swiftly around his feet in a manner that seemed to dare him to overstep its boundaries. From behind, the visage of an emerald-eyed snake concealed Michael from view, formed by an uprising spire of blood. It waited in silence, as if to drink from the reaction of its first victim before finally basking itself in carnage. Michael heard the shout behind him. "I know this voice." He thought to himself. Despite hearing the voice once before, the tone it gave out was one he knew relatively well; an attention call. While on the court, Michael would get his name called out quite a bit. His teammates, clapping their hands in the hopes of being open by the time the ball was swung their way. He'd look every time they did it, not only because it was obvious, but because his coach would chew him off if he did not. Without giving it much more thought Michael twisted his torso so that he could look behind him to figure out what was going on. At the moment of doing so, he found himself wrapped by an unidentified mean. "Ugh!" He grunted, revealed the grip he'd been held in was tight. His dark skin began to turn red as veins formed across his neck and head like the roots of a tree. In the distance he could see Lin and Claudia, the two women from the Good Cookin' restaurant. "Hey, what the hell?!" He shouted trying to squirm to free himself of his current situation, but all of his efforts were pointless. "Do something!" Claudia screamed. But all Lin could see and hear was the apparition before her—an aspect of Sanguis she had never before witnessed. It transfixed her, isolating her from every beckoning cry. But her faith persevered nonetheless—she knew by heart that Sanguis meant no harm, not even to a stranger. As Michael's strength began to wane, Sanguis' grip weakened in tandem. The apparition proceeded to slowly lean downward until its gleaming eye was but mere inches from Michael's face. Before your sleep, your anguish, I reap. With those ghastly words lingering in Michael's consciousness alone, Sanguis enshrouded the entirety of his body, before dissolving into the earth without the slightest of residue, as though he had never existed. But in his wake was the necklace serving as his medium—now adorning Michael's uninjured body. Whilst Claudia breathed a sigh of relief, Lin cautiously drew closer to Michael, extending her hand toward the necklace. "Sanguis?" she whispered, hoping he would call out to her once more. Michael's body flailed on the ground after the invisible force released him. As his body hit the ground he met face to face with gleaming eyes that floated and beamed into his soul, leaving but seven words behind which echoed throughout his psyche. It was as though he'd been repeating them himself, they were etched into his very soul. For a moment the teen was in shock. "What was tha-" His thoughts cut off by another question. "What just happened?" Another came to his mind. Whilst still laying on the ground, he swiftly placed his hand on the neckless before Lin could pick it up and slowly turn his head so that he could see her. He laid side by side with his motorcycle which had fallen due to being trapped earlier. "Tell me, what the hell was that?" He gripped the neckless with his all his might, tightening the grip so that if Lin tried to fight him for it, she'd have a tough time doing so. Lin took a step back looked away, concealing the doubt in her face. "I don't know. Now give that back." Using the palms of his hands to press against the ground and lift himself up, Michael slow rose back to his feet with the neckless in his hand. As he did, he could feel a sensation spreading throughout his body like a wildfire. With his free hand opened, he clenched his fist, holding it as tight as he could. "You don't know my ass! What happened?! The both of y'all are weird. First, you had a damned panic attack, now all of a sudden I'm bein' wrapped up and thrown to the ground?!" Michael grew tense and angrier with each word that left his tongue. He placed the necklace into his pocket and turned to his motorcycle, lifting it from the ground. "I ain't about to have weird shit happen to me a day before the big game. Fuck no, fuck no baby." "I can't believe this is happening," Lin muttered to herself, burying her face in her palm, before spotting Michael preparing to leave. "Wait, you can't just take that away from me! He'll kill you!" "Lin, perhaps it would be best to say something," Claudia quietly interjected. "That necklace is cursed; you've seen that for yourself," Lin continued in a lower tone. "Just give it back, run as far away from me as possible, and... forget that any of this ever happened, please. It's for your own good." Michael hesitated before jumping on his bike. He turned his head to face Lin and Claudia. "Kill me, this lady trippin'! I'll beat the shit outta' whoever this man is you talkin' about." He pulled down on the thruster of his bike and allowed the engine to rev up, unleashing a mini roar of thunder. "You said cursed? You mean to tell me this shit got voodoo on it? Good, then it's gonna' help me in my big game tomorrow." Michael was simple minded and completely skipped over the fact that she'd made a mention of the situation that had just occurred. But to be honest, he was tired as it is and had a lot ahead of him tomorrow. He reached behind himself and threw his helmet onto his head, while reving his engine up again preparing to take off. More Than You Think Rolling her eyes, Lin reached into her pocket and retrieved her business card containing the name of her family museum and contact information. “If you want to leave on your own, I won’t stop you; but at least take this. You’ll know who to call when something unexplainable happens. And it will happen.” She passed the card to Michael. “You have a good night.” Michael reached for the card and carelessly threw it into his pocket. He then pulled the tinted visor of the helmet down to cover the opening that would allow one to see his face down. "Yeah, I'll do that." He responds, pulling on the thruster launching the bike forward while his read tire skurred against the pavement, kicking up a white cloud of smoke as he burnt off. "The hell she mean, know who to call if somethin' unexplainable happens? And all this cursive shit she kept bringin' up." Michael squeezed the brake lever of the bike to slow it down due to the nearby red light. He lifted his hands and smacked against his helmet. "No, no!" He exclaimed, "I've gotta' keep my head in the fuckin' game. I can't afford to get thrown off track right now." Mental images of the two women from before flashed through his head and he banged against his helmet once again, much hard than before. He cleared his mind of all thoughts, his psyche was empty like a grass plain on a dark Monday night. His gaze was stuck on the red light above, waiting for it to turn green. He waited… And waited… And yet, time seemed to be at a standstill. All fell silent but a chilling breeze brushing against Michael’s clothing. He waited… And waited… And yet, the traffic light only seemed to delve unto deeper hues of red the longer Michael’s eyes lay upon them. He waited… And waited… The traffic light bled. Like a fountain, its liquid gushed indiscriminately, painting the quiet street a glistening shade of red. Before long, Michael stood precariously in the midst of a veritable bloodstream. Vroom, Vroom. a triad of black motorcycles came speeding down the opposite lane, now a graveyard of blood-coated vehicles containing mutilated corpses. The bikers dressed and looked identical to Michael. All that distinguished them were their grinning white masks, behind which black voids concealed their gaze. They remained ever fixated on their unmasked twin, their heads twisting at inhuman angles as they gained a great distance behind him. “Gon get us a piece o’ dat, boy!” one of the bikers could be faintly heard shouting. But as if seduced by a disembodied presence, all Michael could do was stare back into the traffic light, now surrounded by several rifts in the air. Three pairs of elongated black arms spewed forth from whatever lay beyond those rifts, voraciously grabbing onto Michael’s limbs and face. Incessant bickering deafened Michael to his own cries—the entities had already begun to debate ownership of every organ comprising him. As the arms began to tug on his every appendage, Michael would feel them gradually tearing from his torso, before all fell to darkness and silence. Slowly fading in and out of his consciousness due to the hellish, yet unknown to him, hallucinations that befell him, Michael found himself snapping back to reality after he'd felt the first sensation of being grabbed by an outside source. The touch was like an eye opener, he returned to the real world only to find himself being tugged upon by these black tentacles. It was hard to capture his thoughts, so he spoke in very soft words. "What... is...." Everything faded to black, he laid face planted into the ground, well, with what he thought was the ground. He'd continued to try and gather his thoughts, be each time he would he would hear sinister laughs in the background as though he'd been being haunted. "Grrrreeeehahahaha..." "Grrrreeeehahahaha..." "Damn... Am I dead?" Michael thought, finally able to gather his thoughts, after all, that time, yet he was still plunged into darkness. He reached for his pocket and patting his leg, but there was no feeling. "The... curse..." Vague, but words still there. But unexpectedly, Michael would not find death, but light, beyond the abyss—sunlight peeking from a bedside window, shining down upon his eyes. He was in the safety of his own room, unharmed by the unimaginable just as before. As though the boundary between dream and reality had been severed, he had indeed come home from the previous night, yet all he would remember were the events leading up to climax of his nightmare. Michael's body rose up, as though he'd been lying in a casket only to rise and reveal he wasn't dead to those around, but instead the casket was replaced by his bed. He patted his body down frantically looking for something, obviously. Whatever it was he did not find it. "Damn..." He clenched his fist, opening and closing it consistently as though he'd been expecting a change of some sorts. "It had to be a nightmare or somethin'..." Swiggling his hand underneath his cover to reach his pockets, he pulled out the necklace he'd taken from the woman last night and began to survey it. With his palm flattened and the jewel rolling around in it, he couldn't help but think back to the woman's words once again. "Cursed necklace? What kinda' bullshit she tryna' pull?" Michael threw the necklace around his neck but still held onto the jewel. After a few minutes moments of silence, he turned his body to get out of bed and headed to the restroom that was technically in his room. I guess you could call it his own personal one. He remained in the bathroom for about two hours. He'd brushed his teeth, washed his face, showered, and shaved. He emerged from the restroom dressed much like his jogging suit outfit from the night before, but its colors were slightly different. Instead of the gray, it was replaced by black from the jacket on down to his shoes. After emerging from the bathroom back into his room, Michael grabbed his backpack from off the floor near his bed and exited the room to head downstairs. Once he'd gotten downstairs, he'd be met by the sweet hypnotic aroma of food being cooked. Without hesitating, Michael made his way straight to the kitchen which was the source of the aroma, only to meet a woman who'd been dressed in a casual business attire. A pair of black tight fitted slacks and a button up black suit and basic dress shirt. As she turned around her appearance came whole and was revealed. She had long hair with a purple hue to it and a face the same shape as Michael's. Even her eyes were gleaming gold just like his as well. This woman was, Melissa Davis, Michael's mother, a very successful singer turned actor who'd as of recent been working on her first book. Due to her recent goal, she'd been busy quite a bit and she hadn't been able to spend that much time with her son, but she did what was within her power. In her hand was a plate of food she'd prepared and placed on the table. When she looked up, she'd lock eyes with her son who had the biggest smile on his face. "Oh, good morning, honey!" She cheered, her own smile overshading his own. "Today's the big day, so I decided to push back my meeting and make you breakfast." "Ma, you didn't have to do that. I coulda' just got donuts or something before I got to the gym." Michael pulled a seat out and pulled the plate of food in front of him and began to chow down. "Honeshly..." His words were smushed together due to the fact his mouth was full of food. "...I know you got that book and all that." He continued to stuff his face with eggs, bacon, and grits simultaneously. In about five minutes he'd stuffed every bit of the food from the plate into his mouth. Lifting from his chair and swinging his backpack to his pack, he headed for the key hanger next to the front door and pulled a set of car keys from it. "Three ! I'll be there, Michael!" She shouted to her running son. He waved at her while exiting the house and shouted back to her "Bet!" Closing the door behind him, he'd rushed to his car which had been parked in the driveway next to his motorcycle. Before entering the car next to his bike, he took the time out to survey it, trying to see if there were any marks or scratches on it. Blood. From a narrow blemish across the car door, blood came trickling in rows aplenty, forming a fresh puddle on the ground, then several trails narrowly missing Michael’s feet. “''Hello, Mister Davis.” A resounding voice, hoarse yet vaguely familiar, spoke from directly behind Michael. The blood had dried, having painted a crude depiction of a serpent on the concrete; the source of the voice, so it seemed. “''My name is Sanguis,” the voice continued. “''We had not been introduced. Blundered introductions tend to keep me up at night… and I was bored indeed. Have I entertained you as well as you have entertained me?” Jerking his hand back, Michael noticed the source of blood across the car door. As he pulled back the source of blood threw itself to the ground forming into a puddle of blood, nearly splattering on his fresh kicks. "I might've been trippin' last night, but if I say "what the hell" one more time, imma' lose my shit." "Waiit, A PUDDLE OF BLOOD JUST FUCKIN' MOVED!" He jumped back and watched it as a liquid substance. There was a voice that came from it and Michael was forced to narrow his eyes onto it. While Michael hadn't explicitly stated it, there was too much weird stuff going on for him at the moment, but he truly tried to keep his mind on track due to the historical events about to take place today. Then a voice called out to him. ''Hello, Mister Davis. it said. The voice's source was coming from the puddle of blood lying before him. After the initial statement, the puddle of blood was absorbed into the pavement only to form itself in an image of a serpent. It spoke again, explaining its name and how it'd felt about introductions, all things Michael had no care for. Stepping closer to the drawing of the snake, Michael lifted his leg and began to stomp down on the image. "I don't give a damn what yo' name is!" He stopped on the depicated picture even harder than before. "The only reason I ain't being bothered by all this weird shit, is because I got a game to worry about! So you can keep those bums ass introductions you're waitin' on!" The voice let out a prolonged, grating cackle at Michael's futile attempts to silence it, before making a slurping noise as if it were feasting on something. "Mmmm... quite delectable." Were Michael to lift up his foot, he would find numerous punctures indented on his shoe, from which his own blood began to seep onto the mouth of the serpentine image. "So, I hear you have an upcoming game," the voice continued. "Our union was a fated one; my 'voodoo' shall bring you fortune. It would be most pitiable if something unthinkable were to deny you victory. But worry not, my dear partner... I know how 'malleable' human bodies can be. I do take great care in enacting my talents, but blunders here and there are all but inevitable. After all, no one is perfect." Michael lifted his shoe, watching with a comical look on his face as blood dripped from the bottom of it onto the depicted serpent image. "Fate my ass!" He shouted. "You know what, I got some time now. What the hell are you, what the hell is the bitch from the restaurant, and why the hell did you "choose me". I'm black, I'm not into all this mumbo jumbo shit, sugar coating bullshit okay?!" With his foot still up, he removed the shoe and the bloody sock and threw it into the driveway. He did the same with the other shoe and sock, then flung his backpack to the ground. Opening it, he pulled out an entirely different pair of shoes and socks. With the two previous socks, he wiped his feet off, the wounds weren't too severe as they'd already stopped bleeding. He put on his new socks and shoes. With a bang to his face, Michael returned to reality once more. "I'M TALKING TO THE FUCKING CONCRETE! Yooooo, this shit can't be serious right now. Nah, nah, nah!" Michael lifted his back from the ground and turned and hopped into his car, closing the door swiftly and pulling out of the driveway down the street. Within seconds, a familiar warmth began to seep through Michael's shoes. Blood had begun to pool around the floorboard of the car from seemingly nothing, seeping through the doors and leaving behind a trail on the street as Michael continued to drive. "I do find this to be more comfortable anyway," the same voice remarked in a snide tone from behind Michael. On the passenger's seat, a blood-sculpted man with a serpentine head peered upon him with emerald eyes. "This is no dream; we've all the time in the world. So, I will humor you by answering your questions." The figure placed its blood-soaked hand on Michael's shoulder. "My name is Sanguis; that is all that is known to me regarding myself. This 'bitch' you spoke of was my former owner, but I found her agreeable enough to serve without causing too much disorder... until I found you. As for why I chose you, well... I would rather take my time with you before liberating you from your own ignorance." With widened eyes, Michael turned to face that being sitting in the seat to the right of him. There sat a man, made of a red substance with its head replaced by a serpent's. He smashed on the brakes, stopped in the middle of the street. Michael brought his feet into the seat and pushed against the driver door. "WHAT THE FUCK!" He shouted, as the being continued on with its statement. Michael's own ignorance allowed him to ignore the fact that this "being" was Sangius, but to be honest what could you expect? He was an American kid, he didn't see stuff like this everyday.. well not at all. "Rather, you, take, time!?" Michael took a deep breath and lowered his foot back down to the gas and continued driving. "Imma' play along... Sangius, right? Imma' play along with you, with this whole situation and act as though this shit is normal. But we gotta' set some ground rules first, fam." "Ground rules, eh?" Sanguis mused, his eyes wide with amusement. "State your terms. Make them reasonable and I may just comply with them... if nothing else catches my fancy, that is." "Number One." He casually stated, forgetting the unnatural phenomena occurring. "That blood shit you keep doing. It gotta go'. Number two!" Michael shouted these words specifically, applying emphasis to them in the best way that he could. "You don't interfere with my game AT ALL! I got a lot riding on this game and I needa' be focused one hunnit percent." Michael flicked a lever next to his steering wheel, which was the turn signal. After coming to a short stop, he turning left on an unknown street to Sanguis. "And last but not least.. we ain't waiting until my ignorance is anything. As long as I'm this skin tone, I can almost guarantee, I'll be ignorant. So I want you to tell me what hell is goin' on, now." Sanguis shrugged his shoulders. "As I said, I can make no guarantees; but I will do my best to leave you to your own affairs, at least for a time. And all this blood? Well..." Influenced by but a subtle gesture from Sanguis, the errant blood lingering in the car vanished from existence, but not that which comprised the man-serpent's current form. "You might like to know that I have yet to use my own blood," Sanguis spoke in a foreboding tone. "Keep that in mind lest your blood join my collection. At any rate, things must be said before I disappear, so I will finish the job and leave your car blissfully clean in but a moment. As for 'what the hell is goin' on,' I will say only this: I will not disturb you. Alas, the same cannot be said for the spirits I have already beckoned. You would do well to... watch your ass, as I'd imagine you would phrase it." And with a resounding laughter, Sanguis vanished before Michael's eyes, leaving no vestige of blood in his wake. After the being's disappearance, Michael let out a sigh of relief. At the same time though, he was a bit tense. "What, did he say "spirits I have already beckoned"?!" Michael turned into a parking lot, with quite a few other cars in it. The logo sitting on the front of the building near the lot made the location pretty obvious; the practice facility of the Houston Cougars. There was all kinds of people outside, reporters, television stations, news, everything you can name it was there. Look out of his tinted window, Michael drove by the large mass of people to get around the back of the building. He parked and looked to his left and right to make sure no one was around him. Grabbing his bag and launching it to his back, he lifted his hoodie over his head and dashed out of his car into the side door of the gym. He slammed the door shut with every fiber of strength in his body. As he turned, he'd be met with a young man about the same age of himself, but a completely opposite skin tone. He had short blonde-hair, but was at least two times Michael's own height. Even taller than the rest of the people that were within the facility. He was slim and that was because of how small he was being lean and muscular probably would have made him look weird. This kid, was William Baker, the starting center for the Houston Cougars and Michael's go-to man. "What's with the expression, Michael?" The boy asked. "You're never here after everyone else, you're usually here first." "Baker, trust me bro... you DON'T wanna' know." Michael walked away and William followed behind him. For a moment, Michael began to think about what Sanguis said. "Nah.." He thought to himself, lowering himself so that he could sit on the ground. He took his shoes off and opened his bag withdraw another pair. Just how big was this backpack? Before putting his shoes on, he opened his legs and reached down to touch his toes, a stretching drill used before by people who are about to engage into physical activities such as sports. While in the middle of his stretches an older man approached him. He was dressed in a jogging suit much like Michael's but with the team's logo and colors across it. He had his hair cut into a bald fade; a cut that was completely shaved around the back and a little hair on the top. He was much more unfit than the teens shooting around in the gym, maybe a bystander? "That booooooy, Miiiiiiike!" He stated, stretching the teen's childhood nickname out. "Late today, huuh? That boy Mike man!" He'd repeated once again. With a smile, Michael shook his head and continued to stretch. "Look, Coach Young, if I told you what I been goin' through. On my momma you wouldn't believe me." Coach Young, the man who'd been the Head Coach of the Houston Cougars for quite a long time. "That boy Miiiike, always got sumn' new, always got somethin' NEW!" Coach Young pulled his hands from behind his back, revealing a tablet. "We got yo' stats for the rookie season babyyyy." Michael grabbed the tablet surveying the screen and read over each one of the stats listed on the screen. The screen was formatted as such: Michael Davis Stats Year: Freshman Team: Houston Cougars Poisition: Point Guard Stats: GP: 30 GS: 30 MP: 30 FG%: 55.5 3P%: 63.2 FT%: 70.2 RPG: 2.3 APG: 15.1 SPG: 3.8 BPG: 0.4 PPG: 25.4 Coach Young grabbed the tablet from Michael's hand turned around to head onto the court. "Get dressed, boy. Oh yeeaaaaah baby, we 'bout to run a scrimmage for about a hour. Then imma' let y'all rest and then the game'll be ready start." "Wow, I don't average at least one block? Damn, everything else solid though." Michael placed his other pair of shoes on and stood to his feet. He zipped his jacket all the way up and threw his hood over his head. Running to the group of players huddled together around Coach Young, Michael was ready for what was to come in the next two hours. Go Hard! THREE HOURS LATER The setting was now at a very large facility. It was much larger than the gym Michael and his teammates were last seen at. If the setting wasn't enough to vouch for this, then the large gathering of people spread throughout the seatings of the arena. This arena was moreso a gymnasium than it was. One side of the stance was clad in red and white colors while the other side donned blue and white. There were signs of the Houston Cougar's Logo as well as the logo belonging to the Duke Blue Devil's. The crowd was roaring with energy shouting both teams names. There were news reporters and national broadcasters all over the arena. "HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! IN ABOUT TEN MINUTES, THE GAME BETWEEN THE HOUSTON COUGARS AND THE DUKE BLUE DEVIL'S IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!" A voice over a loudspeaker spoke to all of the people within the stadium. "Who will be victorious?! Will it be the navy blue that is Duke or the blood red from Houston!?" The crowd roared with excitement, everyone chanted the name of the teams they'd been wagering their faith into. Money was on the line for some people. Pride on the line for others and then there were the few that were just there to be there. Both of the teams had had began walking out from their respective locker rooms. Their appearance was enough to make the crown rave and rage in excitement. Both teams ran to opposite sidelines of the court, the areas which they'd claimed to have been their respective benches. There was a loud siren throughout the building and the lights shut completely off. The crowd became quiet, almost as if the lights turning off was some sort of signal of silence. The darkness gave an ominous feeling, but long time basketball fans knew exactly what time it was and those who were new would soon learn. A rockstar-like instrumental played throughout the arena suddenly, catching those unprepared off guard causing their hearts to drop. The lights flashed around the facility, blinking various colors and the voice over the loud speaker came back once more. "ALRIGHT LADIES AND GENTLE ARE YOU READY FOR THE FINAL ROUND OF MARCH MADNESS TO TAKE PLACE?!" Following his excitement filled question, the lights turned back on normal. The players on each side were lined up among the out of bounds line. "On the right, we have the Blue Devils!" The crowd shouted as the team had been introduced. The commentator went down the line of members and finally reached the last. A dark skinned boy with blue hair held his head down low. He was about six feet nine, no he was exactly that height. "And finally, known for being the most explosive player in the current NCAA era and Player of the Year Duke's small forward; Lebanon Hamez!" The crowd went wild as they scream, shouted, and chanted Lebanon's name in succession as if it they were protesting, but they were doing quite opposite. He'd done the same thing as with the Blue Devil's. He's introduced the players but once he reached the one at the end, he took a pause. At the end of their line was a player standing six three and a hood covering his head. He wore a red and white Houston Cougars Warm Up suit and a pair of all red shoes. "And the freshman player of the Houston Cougars who's currently holding the title of "Rookie of the Year", at the point guard position known for his deadly three point shooting; Michael Davis!" Lifting his head, Michael removed his hoodie and smiled and waved to the crowd as the entire stadium "turned up" shouted his name. ---- Tip off was about to start, both teams' starting five were in their respective positions. The Cougars wore their traditional home jerseys and so did Duke. Michael had been wearing a red arm sleeve on his left arm and two white calf braces on his legs. With a closer look, Michael had on a very specific pair of shoes. The Win Like 96s' he'd ordered just for this game and this game alone. The Cougars' home court jerseys were dominantly white jersey, with red outlining and "HOUSTON" written in red blocked words in an arcing position over the player's respective number. White shorts following this same general theme, but without the Houston written on them. Michael made a cross across his chest. A small pregame ritual he did before all of his games and not just ones of this caliber. The ref walked to the middle of the court with a ball in his hand. He looked at the two center, William from the Cougars and the one from Duke. He threw the ball straight up and blew his whistle signaling the start of the game. William managed to win the jump ball, which would give his team the ability to set the momentum for the game. The two guard was the one at the end of catching the tipped ball and at the moment of receiving it, he passed it straight to Michael. "Zone." Michael thought to himself as the opposing group got into their defensive positioning. The guards ran the top of the three-point line, while the remaining three protecting each area of the inside. Dropping the ball with his right hand, Michael slowly approached the three-point line. Without hesitation he lifted the ball, tossed it to his left hand, and fix his body and arms, firing off a shot. His wrist flick was perfect as the ball beautifully rolled off of his fingers and soared through the air, falling into the rim of the basket. The crowd cheered at Michael's shot, counting his three-point getting the leading basket for the game. He backpedaled down the court, watching the opposing point guard. Before Michael could get in closer, he passed the ball down low to his center where the big man easily was able to score a quick two points to bring Duke to only a one-point deficit. Baker grabbed the ball as it fell from under the net and stepped out of bounds to take it out, then drilled a pass to Michael. Bringing to ball up court with swiftness, Michael dropped past his defender but found himself guarded the two spot. Backing up to reevaluate the situation, Duke swiftly shifted to have their point guard back to guarding Michael. Duke's Point Guard's name was Aaron Butcher, one of the top players in the nation for college ball. Regardless, ranking didn't have much say in today's matter. Michael had one thing on his mind and it was to squash all of his competition that stood in the way of bringing the trophy home to his city. Mike stepped back and then hesitated back. A simple crossover from his left hand to his right, he blew right past Aaron who tried to step over and cut the mohawked dribble off but was easily blown by due to Michael's enhanced strength and speed. Following the blowby, he lifted the ball from the ground securing it into both of his hands, then mad a hard step on his right foot. A defender stepped over hand up ready to contest and hopefully block the rookie's shot. Just as his hand went up, Michael tucked the ball down to his stomach and stepped hard on his left foot completely changing the direction of his movement in just the matter of seconds—a Euro, beautifully executed by someone of such high caliber made the technique look that much more elegant. Allowing the ball for floating from his fingertips, it smacked against the backboard and fell through the hoop counting for two additional points for the Cougars. Instead of running back down the court to defend, Michael stayed near his goal and entered a defense state rushing to Aaron who he'd been holding. Michael made a cross with his arms as Duke's shooting guard had been thrown the ball on the inbound. Michael pushed around him, swiping at the ball just before landing into Aaron's hand, a steal if you would. With his immense speed, he shot towards the baseline of the court but Aaron had been hot on his tail. While riding the baseline, Michael ran underneath the rim and swung his arm to the other side of it. Just before he let the ball go, Aaron smacked against his hand in attempts to stop him from converting the easy reverse layup. A whistle was blown, signifying a shooting foul and with the basket counting he had a chance at an and-one shot. Michael starting throwing his arms into the air and kicked his leg up, his expressive nature coming to show in just the very first five minutes of the game. "LET'S FUCKIN' GO!!!!" He shouted to the top of his lungs as his teammates ran down court patting him on the back and his head for completely such a great play. Aaron, on the other hand, was not happy, as he approached Michael in a completely different tone. "You foulin'," he paused to frown up his face, "this early in the game, bro?" "I'm hooping." Michael answered. "Bro, you fouled me just for a damn steal." Aaron stood by his earlier remark. Michael clapped his hands together as loud as he could and began to approach Aaron, but kept a great distance in order to prevent any technical calls from the referee. "HOLD THE BALL THEN, SORRY ASS NIGGA!" He'd shouted out loud again. For the remaining fifteen minutes of the first half to two teams played their hearts out to the max of their abilities. Scoring and defending in every way that their coaches taught them to. Finally, as the half came to a close the Cougars were up seven, the score 52-59. The Wild Thing Following the victory and celebration with his teammates, Michael left the arena headed for his car. His muscles were tightened due to the hard-fought game against his opponents. Once he'd gotten into his car, he drove for about ten minutes and pulled into a completely empty parking lot. He put his car in park and leaned his seat all the way back bringing his hands behind his head in a relaxed state. Another one of his big white smiles emerged onto his face as he stared up to the roof of his car. "Damn, we did it..." He mummbled to himself, slowly closing his eyes allowing them to rest. “Indeed, we sure showed them, didn’t we?” a raspy voice resounded within the confines of the vehicle. “I had intended to leave you to your own vices, but what boon would I be if I cared not for the needs of my beloved host? Let’s just say I felt it necessary to… exaggerate your physicalities somewhat in the direness of that final shot of yours.” A streak of blood began to fall from one of Michael’s nostrils, landing on a leg of his pants. Persisting as a condensed droplet floating upon the surface of the fabric, the blood ran downward until it was no longer in Michael’s view—at least until it reemerged on the dashboard, taking the shape of a tiny serpent. Sanguis had revealed himself once more. “I hope I didn’t violate our agreement about the blood just now,” Sanguis slyly intoned. “What can I say? I am nothing without gore.” From his nose, to his lap, to his windshield, Sanguis' blood-like form changed positions swiftly. Michael pushed back against his seat, still surprised and caught off guard even after seeing this multiple times. "Goddamn!" Michael exclaimed, before shortly recomposing himself. "You know what, I'm tryin'. I'm tryin' to act like you normal, my guy. But when you do weird shit like this, it ain't easy." He threw his face into the palms of his hands and rubbing against his cheeks. He leaned his seat back and grabbed the red pendant resting around is neck and closed his eyes for a moment. "Nell, this one was for you." He thought to himself, before coming back to the situation at hand. "Ight, uh, Sanguis right?" His slang shining once again, "What you need, man? I don't even know what I've got to offer you man. That chick she told me to call her if somethin' weird comes up. Now that I think about it, you 'bout the weirdest shit I've ever seen. Maybe I should make that phone call." Sanguis let out an unrestrained shriek of laughter. "Oh yes, that sounds like a great idea. Let's involve our dear Lin in our lively little bash. I'm going to enjoy this!" Sanguis' words echoed until his form dissolved, leaving behind a tiny stain. The radio had come to life with a heavy metal song in his place. From the view of the front passenger's window, an oddly familiar motorcycle came revving into Michael's view, its biker disguised from head to toe with black clothing and a grinning white mask. He gave a persistent glare in Michael's direction, evident only by the direction his head had turned—his eyes could not seen through the openings of his mask, as if what lay beyond were only an abyss. And he continued to stare in silence—as though the road ahead were of little concern to him. Michael gripped his ears at the loud music coming from his radio. These volume levels were much more than what his Camaro could handle, so he knew something had to be tinkering with it and by something, Sanguis. Removing one of his hands, he reached for the radio to turn down its immense volume. His efforts were useless though and it seemed as he tried to turn the volume down it only increased further. Michael's head began to pound, signs that shortly he'd gain a headache if something wasn't done about the atrocious sound. I mean, who the hell even still listens to heavy metal at such a degree. Reach for the door handle of his car, he pulled on it fling the door open and rolled out of it. Kicking the door back closed, the volume seemed to have decreased but was still loud enough to be heard outside of it. Standing to his feet, he took a look at his surrounds and here he'd meet abnormal. A man, masked on a motorcycle store at Michael. Even those his face was hidden by the mask, the young man could feel his gaze. Michael's gaze was locked onto the masked man. "Who the fuck're you?" Category:Roleplays